


Who Put These Bodies Between Us?

by dollylux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependency, Just Basic Sam and Dean Stuff, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Yanno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean experiment with their bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Put These Bodies Between Us?

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I wrote for [Wincest Love Week](http://adamsdreamthief.tumblr.com/post/138988122778/who-put-these-bodies-between-us) a few months ago and just remembered. It's not super long or anything, but I kind of liked it and enjoyed writing it. <3
> 
> Title from "Calculation Theme" by Metric.

“Sammy, _please._ ”

“Dean just… just hold on. Just a little longer, okay?” Sam’s voice is strained on the other line, just as thin and pained as Dean’s is. It should be a comfort, to know that Sam is suffering just as much as he is, but all it does is heighten his own torment, make it razor-sharp until Dean can feel it closing it around his throat.

He closes his eyes and swallows hard as sweat drips down his temple. He swears he can taste blood.

“Sammy,” he whispers. Begs.

The anguish from Sam is so profound that he simply doesn’t answer, and the silence brings tears to Dean’s eyes. His grip tightens on his phone so much that he’s almost afraid he’ll shatter it, destroy the one thing keeping him and Sam (even remotely) physically connected.

Bizarre, considering the fact that they are only a few hundred feet away from each other, locked in different rooms in the bunker.

They’d met a woman who called herself a psychic on the last case, one who had watched them with a close, knowing eye the whole time they worked with her to catch the shifter who looked like her, who took her abilities and used them to unleash horror on the greater Lansing area. She’d cornered them next to the car where they were just about to feel safe, their guards down enough to jar them when she spoke.

_”Soulmates.” It wasn’t a question, either in statement or in her eyes. She’d looked between the two of them and surely enjoyed the flush of their cheeks, especially in Dean’s who had not hidden his eyerolls at her “gifts” the whole week._

_Sam had cleared his throat uncomfortably, and it served as an answer in the affirmative for them both._

_“Have you ever tested it?” she went on, hands on her narrow hips, bracelets clinking where they settle around her delicate wrists._

_It’s the perfect question, one that gets their attention, draws them out, picks at their curiosity until one of them has to bite._

_“Uh,” Dean starts, glancing around at the bright sunny day around them before focusing on her, meeting her eyes, “tested what, exactly?”_

_“Your bond,” she’d replied, holding his gaze as long as he’ll give it to her. He’s the easier one to read, his heart so bare, so raw for the long boy at his side. “Look at it as a kind of… tool. One you have to learn how to handle properly. Practice reading each other’s thoughts, trying to figure out what the other is feeling without words, seeing if you can feel it from far apart, if you can communicate mentally when you’re not near each other. I think you may find it pretty useful, especially in your line of work.”_

_Dean had scoffed, his pupils blown with this sudden onslaught of very personal-feeling information from a near-stranger, had glance at Sam once and very hard before turning to his car again, keys jingling in his grip._

_“Why am I gonna waste all that time just so Sam can psychic-text me that he wants a beer?” He turns to smirk at her, in control once again, but she can see that he’s shaken up under it, that he’s thinking about it. It’s enough for her. “See ya.”_

_Sam had watched her, had lingered outside of the car for a few beats longer than his brother, and her goodbye smile to him is genuine._

_If she’s figured Dean’s little brother right, he’s like a dog with a bone, once he gets his mind to something. And with Dean, that boy always gets his way._

“How long’s it been?” Dean asks in a whisper into the phone. It feels like years since he heard Sam’s voice, even longer since he touched him. A lifetime.

The training had started off harmless, just more poking curiosity than anything else. Dean guessing what Sam’s thinking, Sam guessing at Dean’s warped mind, then moving on to emotions, then to trying to communicate from other rooms (with Dean cheating sometimes just by yelling that he wants his dick sucked, Sammy, get back in here). It had been fun, been amazing, until it wasn’t.

Until they couldn’t be apart without feeling a little pull at first, followed by a shortness of breath that was a signal of the beginning of what can only be called a spiritual panic attack, a terrifying desperation to get back to him, to touch him, to _please please please come back Sammy, I need you, goddamnit._

This, today, is the worst day yet. Sam is forcing the issue, always the intellectual, experimenting with their very fucking souls, it seems. He has the stopwatch on his phone running while eleven rooms lie between them, and Dean is trembling like an addict while the distance all but rips him apart.

“T-Two hours, nineteen minutes,” Sam says. “Can you–”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean grits out, turning over on his back on the bed and writhing in what feels exactly like physical pain, a hand pushed hard against his forehead. “I can feel you. God, babe, I can fucking feel you–”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam trembles out, like Dean’s fist is closing around his heart. It’s so good, so painful that Dean has to bite down on a moan, his dick rock hard as he arches up on the bed, sweat pooling in the dip of his throat.

Emotions, thoughts between them now run like circuits, from one to the other and back again until Dean doesn’t know who a feeling originated from, who had a thought first, only that each one exists and it exists for both of them, in both of them. Being this far apart only heightens it, drives it to a needle-spiked point that begs for release, for mercy; it pulls and pulls at them both until they’re on the edges of this thing between them with all that space engulfing the threads holding them together, threatening to consume them both.

It’s beautiful. It’s torture. It needs to end so it can begin again.

“Two hours, thirty minutes. That’s… Dean, I’m–”

“C’mere,” he shakes out. “God, baby brother, get in here–”

The line goes dead and Dean drops the phone, lets it clatter on the floor just as he hears movement in the bunker, hears the halls alive with Sam’s movements, with his footsteps and with the easing of the shiver-tight threads lacing their souls up together and there’s a lock turning and the sound of clothes being shed and a weight on the bed and suddenly there’s–

“Sammy,” he sobs in the single second before his mouth is torn into by his brother’s, his legs shoved apart to make way for Sam’s burning, lean body. There’s no time for talking, not outloud, no time for anything but a deep breath taken and a desperate tip of his hips and Sam is pushing into him, stuffing him with dick, with the hungry throb of his heartbeat in it.

The rut starts immediately, a starved pop-and-slap of their sweat-dripping bodies together, and it–whatever it is; this Thing between them–hums and shivers with a pleasure of its own, like it’s alive, like their souls are touching right now and they’re in more ecstasy than their meager physical bodies can even fathom.

But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters but this, but trying to fit inside of each other in every way, in any way, but drinking spit from each other’s mouths, but sucking blood from broken skin, but feeding swollen, stretched-out entrances into their bodies with creamy, burning come; brother’s milk.

And when it happens, when Dean is filled with the pulsing, thick wash of Sam’s orgasm, he feels it all, the penetration from the inside and the outside, from Sam and himself, and he comes because Sam is coming, because they do everything together now, because there isn’t a solitary heartbeat in either of their chests, it’s a shared rhythm, a joint song, their flesh-and-blood bodies connecting just as surely as their souls are, their lives as woven up together as their spirits.

Nothing will ever tear them apart. Never again.


End file.
